


Behind the Scenes

by Scourge of Nemo (Disguise_of_Carnivorism)



Series: The Consequences of Being Seen [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bounty Hunter Reality TV Stars, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Rival Bounty Hunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29615967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disguise_of_Carnivorism/pseuds/Scourge%20of%20Nemo
Summary: A collection of missing scenes and alternate points of view set during A Series of Unfortunate Collisions. Deeply silly.
Relationships: Boba Fett & Fennec Shand, Din Djarin & Fennec Shand
Series: The Consequences of Being Seen [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2160531
Comments: 44
Kudos: 154





	1. Outtake #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night after Boba Fett first works with the other Mandalorian on purpose, a stretch of footage disappears. Camerawoman Fennec Shand investigates, then thinks better of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Welcome to the series of drabbles consisting of things that felt too silly or too OOC to include in the main fic. I wrote these entirely for my own edification, but I am sharing them. 
> 
> This is set vaguely after the first three scenes in [Double Exposure](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29410209), and directly after chapter 6 in [A Series of Unfortunate Collisions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28825062). This one will not make a single bit of sense unless you've read one or both of those. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Fennec almost doesn’t notice it. 

The footage is so boring — hours and hours of the exact same tape as Boba and his new Mando friend spy on a skip, waiting for him to exit a protected building so they can stun him and bag him.

But there it is: a little blip, a swaying plant first listing to the right, then skipping to the left, while everything around it stays picture-perfect identical. The excision is masterful. Someone even messed with the timestamps, to make it look like nothing’s gone. Impossible to say how much got cut — but the moon’s in more or less the same place, so not _too_ much time. Probably less than an hour. 

Still.

The oddity raises the hair on the back of her neck, ruins a bit of the calm that has followed her from her night off with Cara. 

“Boba,” Fennec says slowly, like she’s trying not to spook a mark, next time he swings back through Jabba’s Palace, “do you know anything about some missing tape from last night’s hunt?” 

“Hm? Missing tape?” he asks, too innocently. Relief rushes through her — it’s nothing nefarious. Just her boss being a cagey, paranoid weirdo, as she has come to expect. “Well, I can’t say anything about that. But I _can_ say that we’re going to have another guest on the show. Possibly regularly.” 

She notes his phrasing: not, I don’t know. Instead, _can’t_ _say_ anything about that. “Regularly?” she asks, leaving him his little evasion. 

“I hope,” Boba says. 

_Hm_. “Does this have anything to do with last night?”

“Well, I think the hunt with him went well, and… viewers liked _his_ stream, so I assume they’ll enjoy our episode.”

“The tape is _boring_ , Boba,” Fennec says. “Hideously. You didn’t do _anything_ for _hours_.”

Condensed, the entire episode’s going to be _maybe_ twenty-three minutes of content. She can envision the tips dwindling, the low viewership. 

They didn’t even have anything interesting to say to each other, some banter to cut throughout the wait. 

_Unless_. Fennec doesn’t let her expression change, but on the _inside_ , her eyes are narrowing. Her mind slips back to the conversation they’d had a few weeks ago, when she suggested that the other Mandalorian might be sexy — Boba’s fluster and bluster, his quick retreat. 

And she’s been catching little pieces of footage, here and there — Boba stopping to watch the other Mandalorian, or letting him take a shot that nets him a few more credits (even though Boba could’ve stepped in and stolen the bounty easily). 

_What had they said to each other_ that Boba doesn’t want her to see? 

Boba just shrugs. “What if we, you know, dressed it up? Staged some fights?” 

Fennec folds her arms, thins her lips. She knows the affect her lone eyebrow has when she raises it, doubt on her face. 

Boba throws his hands up. “Look… the episodes where we run into him — those have been our most popular recently, yes? So we should take advantage.” 

He’s right. 

But she can’t resist needling Boba a little more, just to see what she’ll get out of him, but her mind’s already spinning: little flourishes to get the viewers invested, an entire potential plotline with a high-paying bounty a senator offered yesterday… With one bounty hunter, she’s been working magic, but with _two_? She could orchestrate some glorious entertainment.

“Which means splitting the cut with this new guy,” Fennec says instead. 

“He’s already agreed,” Boba says, shrugging. _Oh, guess there’s nothing you can do_ , _then_ , Fennec bites back. 

“I’ll expect a raise on my hourly,” Fennec says. “Triple.”

“That’s robbery.”

“You cut my share of the bounty and give me twice as many people to edit into something coherent, you raise my hourly.” 

Boba shifts. “Fine.” 

And then picks up some piece of equipment, and turns _immediately_ back the way he came, trying (badly) to look like it’s what he came for the whole time. 

Fennec just harrumphs. She turns back to her monitor to finish her edits.

She rewinds back over the missing footage, watching the little jump thoughtfully. For a moment, she considers installing a backup chip in the cam droids, so Boba can’t pull this nonsense again. If he says something on camera, he should be prepared for her to broadcast it. 

Then she shakes her head. Any hunter foolish enough to cross Boba Fett like that is begging for death. She’s heard what he’s done to lesser hunters who impersonated him, _seen_ what he’s done to clients who refuse to pay. Collecting footage that he thinks nothing of is one thing — if it hasn’t occurred to him, it’s fair game — but going above his head to capture something he’s trying to keep from her? Even having a marshal for a girlfriend couldn’t stop that head from rolling.

 _Whatever_. Let him have his weird little secrets. As long as she gets paid. 


	2. The Mandalorian Responds to Viewers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fennec Shand presents the Mandalorian with select comments left by Boba Fett's viewers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another deeply silly drabble set in the Collisions universe. Set sometime after the conclusion of the main fic.
> 
> T warnings and ratings for… implications of horniness and threats of graphic violence.
> 
> s/o to Prowl and Kyra for proposing some comment ideas. s/o to the internet for the rest.

The cam droid shakes, then blinks to life. An image forms on its transmission screen: A beskar t-visor, unadorned and unblemished. It sits above a set of stiff, cape-topped shoulders that visibly tense on the screen. The image pans out, revealing a soft-blurred background and more broad expanse of beskar.

The helmet clears its throat.

“Uh, so how does this… work,” it says, in a low, serious voice filtered through a vocoder. 

A voice responds from off-screen. It’s higher, droll. “I’m going to hand you a datapad. You just respond to what’s in it.” 

An in-the-know viewer might recognize the voice as Fennec Shand, renowned sniper with dozens of warrants on her head, who mostly operates above bar these days as the producer for Boba Fett’s comeback holonet bounty hunting hit. 

They might similarly recognize the helmet, an unnamed Mandalorian who’s recently started working with Boba Fett — after nearly a year of public rivalry. 

“What’s… going to be on the tablet,” the helmet says, blatantly wary. 

“Just, you know. Comments from the fans! I took some of the best ones.”

“Uh… huh,” he says. “Well.” It gives a resigned sigh. 

“Introduce yourself.”

“I’m not telling you my name.”

“Worth a try. Okay, but seriously, we’re rolling.” A hand crosses into the frame, and the armored form takes a datapad.

A minute shift ripples through the form: the shoulders drop and open up, as if the man is consciously smoothing the tension from them. The helmet tilts down, limiting refractive glare from the cam droid’s floating set lights. 

Then he looks at the datapad and physically recoils.

“Is this… just looped video of me getting hit in the head?” 

“Oh, no,” responds the voice behind the camera, “someone edited an oldies classic over it. It’s supposed to have sound, too.” A brief rustle, and then Britney Spears’ _Toxic_ blares.

“...Huh,” the helmet says.

“We need to try this again,” the cameraperson says. “Whatever. We’ll come back to it. Just read the next thing out loud.”

“I want you to… shove your vambraces up my…” The reader stops, horror creeping into his voice. He points to the datapad. “This is a _horrible_ abuse of sensitive equipment. There would — this would require _so much cleaning_ afterward — that — the fuel cells alone — are they _all_ like this?”

“Just read the next one. This is great.”

“I never should have agreed to this,” the bounty hunter says, despair clear in his voice.

“The. next. one.” 

He gathers his courage. “Oh. This one’s not so bad. ‘Fuck you, Mandalorian, it’s _your_ fault my cousin’s in jail. I’m going to find you and I’m going to rip your intestines out through your bellybutton.’ Fennec, can you see if this commenter has any bounties on them?” 

After that, he falls into a more natural pattern. 

“‘unf step on me king’ — I… that doesn’t _sound_ dirty but it _feels_ dirty, somehow.” 

“It’s definitely a sex thing, these days,” Fennec says. 

“Hm. Well, this one says… this one is a marriage proposal.” The helmet looks at the camera dead-on. “Sorry, I’m taken. And very busy.” 

“Awwww,” Fennec coos, meanly. “Tell us about the lucky person.”

“You going to tell me who your girlfriend is on camera, Shand?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

The helmet turns back to the datapad, radiating smugness that immediately disappears after it processes the next comment. “Is there a content restriction on this platform? Can I say any of this?”

“Just read it. The droid bleeps everything automatically.”

A long-suffering sigh, and then the bounty hunter begins reading in a flat voice: “‘i want you to [REDACTED] my [REDACTED] until I [REDACTED] [REDACTED] in the [REDACTED] and you [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED].’” He looks directly into the camera. “Is that fine?”

“That will do, thank you.”

A chair scrapes, and the bounty hunter starts to stand.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Fennec asks.

“I’ve… really got to get back. Kid stuff.”

“We have fourteen more of these, and you’re reading every single one. Back in the chair, bucko.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Din, internally: WHY ARE BOBA'S VIEWERS SO MUCH MORE SEXUAL THAN MINE


	3. Outtake #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boba Fett has been feeling too comfortable around the Mandalorian. Of course, that means he had to go and put his foot in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set directly after [chapter 8 of A Series of Unfortunate Collisions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28825062/chapters/73404573). Read that first. 
> 
> Boba POV.

For days after he says it, Boba’s kicking himself. 

Joke about killing Jedi? In front of a guy who’s bent his entire life around trying to hide a baby Jedi from the Empire? Who spends half his waking hours in constant paranoia that something’s gonna come for the kid? 

_Smart, dumbass_. 

He almost wishes he had been able to see the Mandalorian’s face, that last time he saw him, but he can imagine the Mandalorian’s emotions too well just from the tone in his voice as he picked up Grogu: stricken, horrified. 

He had stepped _between_ Boba and Grogu. Like Boba’s a threat.

And since then, he’s only gotten clipped responses when he offers the Mandalorian work that he _knows_ the other bounty hunter needs. _Busy, sorry_ or _can’t, sorry_. Apologetic, polite, no matter how stupid Boba’s been. Perhaps even _more_ polite, now that they’re no longer — whatever they were becoming, over all these months of working together. 

Fennec catches him in the bar kitchen, where he’s trying to make food without endlessly mentally berating himself. 

She folds her arms and leans against the steel tabletop. “Haven’t seen Mando around for a bit.”

Boba grunts. 

“You do something?”  
  


He wants to say something biting, like, _Why’d I have to do something?_ Maybe _Fennec_ did something. But they both know she’s right.

And she’ll never leave him alone if he doesn’t give her _something_. “...I mentioned the padawan braids rumor.”

In some senses, this is Fennec’s fault. _She_ had started that particular unsavory rumor, back when they both worked for the Hutts. _And_ the one about him wearing a thong to murder a guy. (They had been normal underwear. There were extenuating circumstances — metal detectors! — and she didn’t have to make endless fun of him for it.) 

“Yeesh. Are you trying to get him to think you’re about to murder his baby and preserve its ears?”

“I know!” Boba’s hands are flying into the air, and a bit of sauce spits off the spatula, but he can’t bring himself to care. Now that he’s started talking about it out loud, he can’t really stop himself. “Don’t make murder jokes in polite company!” 

“I wouldn’t call him polite company, exactly,” Fennec points out, “and he jokes about death all the time.”

“Go away,” Boba grouses, and — this is the best thing about Fennec — she does. (He’s pretty sure her logic is something like, why stick around when you’re not being paid, but he honestly totally doesn’t comprehend the patterns of her comings and goings.) 

Because she’s right. It’s not the morbidness of his comment. It’s not even really that it made him sound like a child murderer.

It’s just that he said it with such cavalierness — like he thought the Mandalorian would think the rumors are so obviously unfounded, so obviously _silly_. 

Like the Mandalorian knows better than that. 

Like the Mandalorian thinks that _Boba_ is better than that. 

But he doesn’t. That’s the thing. The Mandalorian barely knows anything about him. He hasn’t _told_ the Mandalorian anything about him. Why not just take the guy who jokes about mass-murdering children, then wearing their hair, at his word? 

Boba knows — the important things about the Mandalorian, the only things that really matter to him. How he acts under pressure. How he looks out for his child. How he’s working himself to the bone to support other children. How that strange code he follows, whatever it is, guides his life, gives him a purpose. 

Yes, Boba doesn’t know the circumstances, the details. But those don’t _matter_ to him.

Then again, the Mandalorian hasn’t even trusted him with his own name. His kid’s name, sure — that’s _something_. 

But maybe this feeling of _knowing_ is even more one-sided than Boba’s realized. Maybe he needs to say more than he has. 

The meat is burning, past a nice sear and into an overdone char. Boba mindlessly attempts to remedy the situation, but like most things in his life, he only gets so far. You can’t stop nature; you can’t stop physics; you can’t stop an order or a republic or an empire. 

You can just take what you can win. 

He forgets, lately, that other people still don’t weigh him quite the same way. He has these ghosts behind him: the terror of all he’s done for a contract, the warlords and gangsters whose tools he became, the fear that comes with just a glimpse of _Slave I_. The legacy of his father. The hundred thousand men wearing his face to topple a republic.

He’s gotten too comfortable, around the Mandalorian. Boba’s forgetting who he is. 

He can’t afford that.

So he goes back to his cooking. He makes himself some food. He cleans, mechanically, until the entire kitchen is spotless. He shoves the flavorless spoonfuls into his mouth. And he doesn’t comm the Mandalorian again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Boba hunting a guy in his underwear is canon.](https://keldabekush.tumblr.com/post/644691198114775040/so-here-we-go-sorry-for-the-lateness-but-i-did)


End file.
